Ultimate Reversal
by sierra.steinbrecher
Summary: Erika is the hidden beauty of the Opera Popular. The only one who knows of her existence is Christophe, the tenor that everyone's talking about. And this talk is what threatens to tear them apart when a certain Countess wants Christophe for herself. Gender Bender, Rated M for Violence. Don't own Phantom of the Opera, just this lovely version.
1. The Stage is Set

Christophe was woken by a pillow to the face. "Mark, get off of me."

The young blonde man removed the pillow only to smack it down again. "Come on, Christophe, we've got rehearsal in seven minutes!"

Christophe sat bolt upright, throwing the lighter youth off of him. "Seven minutes? Why didn't you wake me sooner?" He frantically threw on his costume and headed for the spiral staircase that took him out of the opera house dorms and into the backstage area.

The two chorus boys could hear the lead tenor, Carl, already biting into that poor solo number. The man was a great name and attracted people, but those high notes were starting to sound more and more painful, especially to Christophe. Jealousy couldn't be banished entirely from his emotions when he heard that man sing pieces that were clearly not for the older man's range but would have suited Christophe's youthful voice just fine. But no, the man's reputation was too great, and Christophe was just a chorus boy with a good voice and exceptional ballet training and skill.

While they quickly assumed their place in the dancing lineup with their partners for the ball scene, Mark spotted someone making their way through the crowd. Still facing in the direction of their first dance step, he whispered to his curly-haired friend, "Check those three out."

Christophe leaned towards him, still facing the front and ready for action. "Which three?"

"The two fops in top hats and their lady friend. I think that's the manager with them."

Christophe rose to pointe position, looking over the heads of the couple in front of him. "Don't talk like that. But yeah, you're right, it is him. Don't tell me one of those is his…"

"Yeah," said Mark who had joined his friend in the air. "I guess he is retiring. Wonder which one of the bunch we're stuck with and who the other two are. Wait…" He hopped into the air, just a little. "Does the girl seem familiar to you?"

Christophe mimicked his friend's actions. "I think that's the Countess de Chagny. Wasn't Rachel her first name?"

"Yeah. But she only comes here for the performances. What's she doing here during rehearsal?"

They found out when their manager interrupted the music to announce that he was retiring and to introduce them to the two 'fops', as Mark had so eloquently put it. Their new managers were Monsieur Reyer and Monsieur Lefèvre, who were very keen to please their lady patron, who was indeed the Countess. The two men had made their fortunes in the junk business, and probably didn't have the first idea of how to run a theater, let alone the Opera Popular. Mark pitied them.

Now Carl was getting off the stage and the ball scene had commenced. Christophe and Mark flew their partners through the air, allowing them the appearance of lightness while supporting their every movement. Mark was entirely caught up in the dancing. He may have been training for as many years as Christophe, but he still didn't have the boy's natural grace. He didn't really mind though. They were good friends, and Christophe had never acted superior to Mark because of his dancing or voice. Christophe wasn't quite so lucky. His skill allowed him to take in the rest of the company. They were all dancing smoothly, so there wasn't much to catch his attention until he spotted the onlookers.

The Countess was staring right at him.

And she looked hungry.

He put the look out of his mind, saying that she was just entranced by the dancing, and played out the rest of the number without problem. Apparently, the managers had been talking about the ballet dancers within earshot of Carl, and he hadn't liked their blatent ignoring of who he considered to be the most important part of the show; himself. So he decided to throw a fit to get their attention.

"If the dancers intrigue you so much perhaps we should cut out the singing altogether! I will not be a part of a ballet performance, Monsieurs." He started to walk out, knowing they would chase after him.

They did, and practically begged him to sing his favorite part of the show. So, of course, he oblidged.

"Your hair, how it shines, my sweet.

Your eyes, so ablaze with music.

And when you unmask that smile,

My heart beats so hard I lose it.

Oh, how I long to throw away

The tawdry light"

Before the man could finish the line, a backdrop plummeted from its place in the rigging and hit the man in the back, knocking him to the ground without actually hurting him. Most of the cast looked to see if the man was alright, including Mark.

Christophe was the only one who looked up. So, he was the only one who saw the flitting figure cross into the darkness of the wings. And he smiled.

Now Carl was truly furious. This was beyond grabbing attention. His life had been threatened! There was no way he was staying in this opera house now, and he told the managers this in as loud a tone as possible. He fled the theater and sent the managers into frenzy.

"Surely there must be an understudy?" Said one, the short one with the curly hair.

The taller one hit him over the head. "Of course not. You cast someone like that for their name. No, we'll have to refund the whole house." Mark was surprised. So one of the men actually did know what he was talking about.

He was even more surprised when the conductor said, "Why not cast someone else? Christophe Daee has a fantastic voice." Mark looked over at his friend who was hurrying to the front. The director smiled at the younger man. "Let's try it from the top of what Monsieur Carl was just singing." He did, and was cast as the lead role for the first time in his life. Mark couldn't believe his friend's luck. But Christophe knew it hadn't been luck. It had been his angel.

**I LOVE REVIEWS!**


	2. Debut

After they'd finished rehearsal for the day, which had mainly been drilling what he didn't already know of the music into his head, Christophe headed for the small chapel underneath the opera house. It was a simple place, more for prayer than actual masses, but it had two things that Christophe loved; candles to light for his deceased mother and a hidden window that let him talk to the love of his life.

When he reached the room, Erica was waiting for him. He closed the door behind him and locked it before sitting next to the window so they could talk. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

Her voice, light and girlish, answered through the grate. "Didn't have to do what?"

"Drop that background on him. He was mad enough that he would have left on his own. You could have hurt him."

She laughed, another beautiful sound. "Christophe, I could lift that background. It wasn't heavy enough to do any damage. Besides," He heard a thump as she leaned against the glass, "I wanted you to be able to sing that song."

He echoed her laughter. "Yes. It is perfect for us. I just wish I could sing it with you instead of having you just listen to it from somewhere else."

"Christophe, you know I can't. They wouldn't even look at me when I auditioned five years ago as a chorus member. It's a miracle I wasn't thrown out of the city once my face was seen."

"Yes. And a miracle that I found you and made you stay. If I become famous enough, I can find a patron of my own and earn enough to buy you and me a real home. You won't have to live down there anymore."

She sighed. "I want to kiss you when you talk like that, Chris. You're so sweet. But don't worry. I'm fine where I am. Actually," she giggled a little, "you should come live with me. I'm almost finished with the furnishings, and it's literally underneath your work."

He sighed, but contented this time. "Once I've married you, I'll do just that. But I have more rehearsal tomorrow and I have to do well if I want to fulfil my promise to you."

"You'll do splendidly, Chris. Your angel watches you." Those words were the signal that it was no longer safe to talk. Erika had a network within the wall of the opera house that let her know when someone was approaching a certain area.

And Christophe did pass one of the ballet girls on his way back to the dorms. He slept through the whole night and woke ready to give the performance of a lifetime.

On the might of the first performance, he garbed himself in the raiment of a love struck prince and walked out onto the stage, alone for the first time. Before, he had always hidden within the ranks of dancers and chorus members. Yes, it had felt like a waste but it had also felt safe. No one would notice if he missed a note if there were fifty others singing the same part. But here, alone, with the eyes of three hundred audience members skewering him with their expectations, mistakes would not be tolerated.

Then he looked up to where the chandelier hung. One of the maintenance doors had been cracked open. Erika, his angel, was waiting for him. So he sang, stronger than he had at the impromptu audition, richer than the rehearsals, more resonantly than his private sessions. Because this was perhaps the only time Erkia would hear this clearly.

"Your hair, how it shines, my sweet.

Your eyes, so ablaze with music.

And when you unmask that smile,

My heart beats so hard I lose it.

Oh, how I long to throw away

The tawdry light of common day

Only to surrender to your flight.

Blacker than the ebony,

Once with you I will be free

To join you in the music of the night."

His beautiful tenor voice rang with forbidden passion, frustrated love, desperate longing for his black beauty. The character's feelings mingled with his and captivated his audience completely. Christophe would never be just a chorus boy again.

After that first verse of unbridled beauty, Christophe ceased to intermingle his own feelings for Erika with his character's longing for the flower girl he'd met in the street but could not be seen with les his royal reputation be soiled. In the end, the prince would chose not to follow his love. It was for this reason that Christophe detached himself from the character, because he had never thought of doing that to his angel. But it didn't matter that the rest of his song was dulled. None remembered anything but that first verse, especially the Countess.

After the show, Christophe retreated into the dressing room where he was besieged by audience members seeking his notice. Bouquets soon littered every surface along with boxes of chocolates, dinner and ball invitations, and many other gifts that he had no use for. He was finally taking off that horribly stiff doublet when his space was invaded again. When the door shut, he looked up and saw the Countess standing in his room. "I wanted to congratulate you on you debut."

He bowed to her. "I am pleased that you enjoyed my performance, madam."

"Oh, I enjoyed much more than just your performance." She was walking towards him.

Christophe slipped behind her and opened the door. "I am flattered that you thought to tell mer personally, but I'm afraid I must finish preparing for another night. A singer must care for his voice."

"Oh yes, of course you must." Was it just his imagination, or did she sound disappointed? "I hope to see you in future performances." She exited the room.

Christophe finished undressing as quickly as possible and donned his looser, usual clothes. Then he began to inspect his gifts. He knew Erika would want to see him soon, and he might as well take a few flowers to her when she did. Most were too ostentatious for his quiet lady, but there were some that suited her. A rosebud there, a sprig of mint here. Why anyone would put mint in a bouquet was beyond him, but it did add a nice air of refreshment to the bundle of delicate flowers in his hands.

He noticed a small bowtie of black ribbon. Perfect. He tied it around the stems and set it aside, waiting for the moment when the traffic outside would die down and he could escape to the chapel. But, as it turned out, he didn't need to. His angel had provided another way.

**I LOVE REVIEWS!**


	3. Entrance

The lights went out. The candles became victims of a wind that fluttered in from behind the dressing room's full length mirror. There were only two candles left alight, the two on the far sides of the same wall, although those were nearly hidden because of all the flowers. Then Christophe heard the singing. "Brava, brava, bravicima." It was Erica, and her voice was coming from the mirror.

He decided to play along with her little duet. "Angel, I hear you. Sing, I follow. Enter my life, beauty. Angel, my patience falls to longing, longing for you, angel."

Christophe was sure she blushed as she sang back. "Flattering love, I will lead you. Into the darkness we'll flee. Step through the frame of this mirror. Make a life with me."

He stepped toward the indicated doorway. "Angel of music, love, and laughter, help me escape notice. Slip me away into your castle, home of your dark wonder." He stepped across the threshold, took her hand, and for the first time since their meeting five years ago, finally saw her up close.

They stood like that for a while, staring at each other. Erika was memorizing every line of his face, at least, those she could see in this semi-darkness. Farther down the tunnel she'd installed candelabras and part of her plan to make a home for them beneath the opera house, but she didn't dare put them closer to the mirror. If someone saw the light and thought to investigate, it could end very badly for the two of them. But she could examine him more thoroughly later. For now, she feasted on the dark eyes and creases the darkness highlighted and the warmth of his hand in her as they prepared to descend further into her life's work.

He was shocked. The face that had nearly gotten her killed was covered by a fantastic white mask that gleamed in the dull light. It covered most of the right side of her face, where the flaw persisted. But it looked like she'd left her lips free. He ran a finger over them to check and delighted in the smile he felt forming at his touch. She waited until he removed his fingers and started gently pulling him down the tunnel. "Come. I have a better place for this."

As they entered the more finished section of the tunnel, the candelabra along the walls afforded better light and Christophe got his first real look at this new Erika.

At first, it was only her back since she was leading him. Her black hair was a bit ragged around the edges, but it was wavy, like he remembered, and now much longer, past her waist. There was a black rose hairpin at the crown of her head. She turned to make sure he was following and he saw that the hair around her face had been pulled back. Her mask was white. His other hand twitched as he looked at it.

Erika saw the small movement and brought the hand up to her face. "Go ahead." Now that he had permission, Christophe ran his hand over the mask.

It was smooth, like silk, and molded to her face. As he looked closer, he saw that it wasn't pure white, as he'd first thought, but more creamy. The color was so close to her complexion that it would be hard to tell the two apart if you didn't know the mask was there. She leaned into his hand. "I tried to make it as close to skin as I could. Is it…"

"Perfect." He gently kissed the forehead portion of the mask. "There's no difference." She smiled and they continued down the tunnel.

They exited into a cavernous space filled with water. He looked at her with a puzzled expression. "I didn't know this was under the opera house."

"It isn't," she answered. "We're outside the city limits now. It was the best way to remain undetected. Come." She led him along the shoreline until they reached a boat, one of the kinds you used a pole to push instead of oars. "We have to get in." She made for the back where the pole rested, but he grabbed her wrist before she could reach for the pole.

"Let me." Christophe helped her into the seat and took up the poling position himself.

They rode through the waters in silence, with Erika occasionally pointing out where they needed to go and Christophe moving the pole to propel them in the indicated direction. Most couples would have chatted to fill the silence. But Christophe and Erkia had had nothing but words for so long that they were content, for the first time in years, to use their eyes instead of their ears.

As Christophe guided the boat around corners, he saw the work she had put into building their home. The walls were smooth and occasionally garnished with small carvings in the seam between wall and ceiling , or above doorways. "Did you make all those?" He gestured to an angel tucked into a corner near the doorway they'd just entered, with its wings spread out on the adjoining walls.

She smiled and looked back at him. "Actually, no. I found this place when I was searching for a way to connect that tunnel to the place I built our home. But it is beautiful."

He smiled. He should have known his angel was too delicate for such work, especially when she had been younger. "Yes, they are." They continued in silence until they crossed through the last archway and entered a cave the likes of which he had never laid eyes on.

**I LOVE REVIEWS!**

**For some odd reason, this story is not popping up on the Phantom of the Opera archive. Any suggestions as to how I can solve that problem?**


	4. Union

Once the boat was about two feet from the shore of the cavern Erika had outfitted as a home, she jumped out of the boat and started to pull it towards the mooring line she'd erected. Once Christophe stopped staring, he got out to help. They tied up the boat together.

Christophe was amazed by what he saw. There was everything you would expect in a small house, like a kitchen, but there were other things as well. She watched as his beautiful chestnut eyes widened when he saw the pipe organ, the piano, and all the other musical instruments she kept here. "Can you play all of those?" he asked in slightly awed tones.

She stepped up beside him. "Yes. But come on. You haven't seen the best part yet." She led him through the small pathways between her creations and candles until they were in front of a small veiled alcove in the wall. She pulled back the curtain and heard him gasp.

Behind the curtain were two mannequins dressed in wedding finery, and beyond them was a pedestal with a wedding certificate signed by a judge. She went in, picked it up gingerly, and brought it out for Christophe to look at. "Since I can't really get a priest to come down here, I thought this would be the next best thing. Will you do this for me?"

He leaned over the paper and kissed her. "That and more, Erika. Let's change." So Erika showed him to the small bathroom she'd fitted into the cave walls. He wondered how she'd gotten running water down here as he cleaned his face and used some to slick down some of the more unruly curls. Then he donned the splendid suit that Erika had prepared for him.

She met him in the alcove a minute later, beautiful in her own wedding attire. It was simpler than those Christophe had dreamed of seeing her in, but he thought it was better that way. His Erika had never been a fussy countess or self-important soprano. This was how she was, simple, beautiful, and someone who loved him. She picked up the egret feather quill and signed her name. She handed the pen to Christophe, singing.

Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime  
Help to lead me from my solitude.  
Say you need me with you here, beside you.  
Anywhere you go, let me go too.  
Christophe, that's all I ask of you.

He took the pen, signed his own name, and sang in return.

Say you'll love me every waking moment.  
Let me be a part of everything.  
Say you need me with you now and always.  
Promise me that all you say is true.  
Erika, that's all I ask of you.

He leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips. They stayed like that for a while as Erika's hands gently tousled his curls and his arms wrapped around her slender waist. Finally, Erika broke the kiss and stepped toward the pedestal. She pressed in the center of the top and a small octagon rose out of the top. There were two hands underneath it, each with a wedding ring on the proper finger.

They were simple affairs. Christophe's was just a band of gold and Erika's had a tiny diamond set in the center. She slipped his onto a chain and went to hang it around his neck. "You can't show this publicly yet. It will cause suspicion and could cost you some of the better parts. Wear it around your neck for now, so that it's always close to your heart."

Then he picked up hers and grasped her left wrist. "You, my darling, do not need to hide." He slipped the ring onto the third finger and captured her lips again as he kissed her.

This kiss lasted much longer than the first. His arms didn't just encircle her waist. They pulled her towards him, mingling their heat and making both their hearts pound. Erika didn't stop in his hair, but let one of her hands reach down to his neck to keep him from breaking this delightful kiss.

When they finally broke apart, panting, both were blushing furiously like the virgins they were. They knew what was supposed to come after this. Erika's mother had spoken of it often before her death during the birth of her little brother, who died the same day. Christophe had of course been teased by his peers for remaining pure and not "enjoying the night," as they had put it.

She didn't look at him as she shoved his regular clothes at him. "You should go change." He took the clothes and practically ran for the bathroom.

Erika retreated to the small bedroom she'd furnished. The bed was her personal masterpiece, a circular mattress framed by swan's wings with a headboard shaped like its beast with the head arching over where they would…she blushed madly at the thought.

Forgetting the bed, Erika walked over to the small chest where she kept the clothes she'd managed to procure. She pulled out the silk nightdress with lace inlays. She breathed in deeply. It was the most daring piece of clothing she owned as well as the most beautiful. Lowly undressed and lifted the fragile fabric over her head. As it fell around her, it hugged her slight curves and left her white arms bare. She wanted to put on a robe or something to cover her arms, but before she could search for one, Christophe came into the bedroom.

He saw her standing there with her back facing him, and the first thing he thought was that she was beautiful.

His second was that she was terrified.

Erika was shaking so hard that she was making the fabric ripple. Christophe was oddly relieved. To tell the truth, he'd been scared of this moment too. He reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. "Erika, let's not do anything tonight. We can just sleep together, and wait for the… the other stuff."

She visibly relaxed and turned to face him. "Are you sure?"

He smiled in return. "Why should we do something we're both afraid of?" She hugged him in answer. They slipped under the soft covers in the bed and slept twined around each other. This was how they should be. And it was how they would be. No matter what happened,

**I refuse to write lemons. This is as close as you'll get. And there are people in this world who are terrified of lovemaking, myself included. So it's perfectly fine for me to write my characters the same way.**

**That said, I LOVE REVIEWS!**


	5. Letters

**I took several songs straight from the movie for this part. Feel free to imagine them sung as you read. In fact, I hope you will.**

**Letters**

**I LOVE REVIEWS!**

When Christophe woke up the next morning, he couldn't sit up. Erika had twined her arms around him during the night in a gentle hug, and one of his arms was trapped underneath her head. He reached up with his free hand and brushed her cheek. She awoke at the gentle touch and he laughed. "Good morning, sleeping beauty."

The half of her face he could see blushed lightly. She retracted her arms from around him but stayed in the bed next to him. She smiled. "You've got bedhead."

He squawked, "What?" Looking in the mirror on the adjacent wall, he saw that his wife was right. His curls were flattened out in the front and riotous in the back. What had he slept like, to get that hairdo?

Erika sat up beside him and laughed as she said, "Here, let me help." She began running her slim hands through his hair, teasing out the flattened curls and straightening the ruffled ones. He closed his eyes at her gentle touch. It felt good to be with her like this. There was no fear of getting caught, no need to hide. Not here, in the sanctuary that Erika had built for them. So he let himself relax as his new wife played with his curls.

After a few minutes of this, Erika got out of the bed and walked over to the trunk on the other side of the bed where she kept the clothes she'd brought for Christophe. She was about to pick up a white shirt when Christophe put his arms around her. "I can do this. You go get ready." So she walked over to her own trunk and picked out her clothes for the day.

Erika didn't want to break the moment, but she had to. Once they were eating the breakfast she'd cooked in the small kitchen area, she said, "I'll take you back to the opera house once you're finished eating." He dropped his spoon and gave her a hurt look. "Don't look at me like that. I don't want you to leave, but we can't make this public until you're famous enough that it doesn't matter. I'm helping as best I can in that regard, but"

He interrupted her. "What do you mean? What are you doing? It had better not involve dropping more set pieces."

"No," she replied, "it's nothing like that. I just sent a few letters to the managers and main patrons and such before I came to collect you last night."

He sat back. "What sort of letters?"

She smiled teasingly. "That's for me to know and you to find out. But eat your eggs. We have a lot of work to do." She grinned at the thought of the charming little note she'd left for that halfway decent manager and the slightly more threatening ones the countess from last night and that disaster of a tenor would have found by now.

At that very moment, Monsieur Reyer was complaining to his friend. "Listen to this letter."

Andre, 

What a charming gala! Christophe was, in a word, sublime. We were hardly bereft when that Carl left. On that note, the tenor's years are past him, must we cast him when he's seasons past his prime?

He waved the offending piece of parchment in his partner's face. "I told you why we have to. The man is famous beyond belief. That Christophe fellow is just a choir boy. No, we are getting Carl back and we are casting him."

Then the front doors burst open. The Countess burst into the room followed by her footman and personal servant. "What is the meaning of this?" She brandished a letter of the same kind that the Manager was currently waving around in his agitation.

The manager quickly hid his own note and catered to the new arrival. "Is something wrong, my lady?"

"I have been accused and threatened by this opera house. I will not-"

She was interrupted by the second manager. "I assure you, we have done no such thing, my lady."

"Then what is this?" she said, shaking the letter in the already flustered man's face. He grabbed the letter and began to read.

I do not care if you are a countess or a queen. You are a married woman Rachel. And panting after young opera singings like a dog in heat will get you nothing but my knife at your throat and poison in your glass. The angel of music is a vengeful spirit.

Opera Popular's P.

She snatched the letter back. "There. It's signed 'Opera Popular'. Who else could it be?"

Then the front doors were abused again when Carl came barreling into the room, shouting at the top of his lungs. "Where is she? I want that countess. Where is she?" Then he caught sight of the angry female. "I have your letter. And if you think that just because you're titled you can treat me like this-"

"Calm down, Monsieur." Rachel raised her hand to ward the man off. "What letter?" He whipped out a piece of paper, strikingly similar to the one in the countess's own hand, and read with an angry voice.

Your days in Opera Popular are numbered. Christophe Dae will be the lead from now on. Prepare for a great misfortune, should you attempt to snuff out his rising star.

Opera Popular's P.

Okay, this situation was getting tenser by the second, with two very delicate and needed business parties involved. So naturally, the managers tried to lighten the atmosphere. "None of you need to worry. Clearly, the letters are all from the same person, not us or anyone else in this room. We simply find this person and the problem is solved. The first person to ask would be Christophe, since the letters talk about him specifically."

"Mr. Dae has returned," said someone from behind the small company. They turned and saw Mark standing next to the conductor. "He asked me to give you this." He walked down the staircase and handed the monsieur yet another letter. He unsealed it and began to read.

Lady and Gentleman,

Allow me to introduce myself. I'm the entity that allowed Christophe's talent to become known, through my actions involving one under-talented stage hog and a backdrop a few weeks ago. Therefore, the fame and profits you have experienced because of Mr. Dae's performance are my doing. In order to help you enjoy further success, I have now sent you notes of the most practical nature detailing how this theater is to be run. In case they weren't clear enough, allow me to lay out my plans.

Christophe Dae has returned to you, and I am certain his career will progress. In the new production of _Muse Sierra, _you will therefore cast Carl as the soldier and put Mr. Dae in the role of Sir Lute. The role Mr. Dae plays calls for skill and appeal. The role of the soldier is silent which makes my casting, in a word, ideal.

I will watch this performance from my proper place in box five, which will be kept empty for me. I look forward to guiding you in the future.

The Phantomess of Opera Popular. 


	6. Act II

Everyone was furious. Carl and the two managers were determined not to let this upstart theater girl have any say. Carl was cast as the main tenor role, Sir Lute, and Christophe was thrown the solider role as a direct slight to the woman's 'ideal' casting. Once he heard the news, the young tenor ran for the chapel, knowing that Erika would have already heard and would be planning her revenge already. He had to temper her anger at being ignored so no one got hurt.

When he reached the window, she was already waiting for him. "Erika, don't-"

"Get revenge?" mused the voice, hinting at laughter. "Don't worry. I'm not going to kill anyone. I'm just going to disgrace Carl. He won't be able to hold his head up once I'm through with him."

"But you need to watch yourself." Now the voice was fierce, skewering him. "You are married to me now. That Rachel woman is not going to have you. So stay away from her."

He gulped. Christophe had never heard Erika talk like that; she'd always been so sweet. _Marriage does change a woman, _he thought. "I promise not to go near her and try to stay out of her way."

"Good. Do you think you can learn Sir Lute's part as well as your own?"

He laughed. "My part is silent. I have all the time in the world."

"Good. After I, shall we say, silence Carl, you'll need to be ready to take his place. Then you will be the primo uomo once more and we can move forward. Your angel watches you." Christophe stood and vacated the room.

The next few days were not easy for either of them. Christophe had to learn the blocking of both the soldier and Sir Lute, along with the main's singing parts. Worse, he had to learn Sir Lute's part without anyone noticing, which was not easy when everyone was keeping an eye on him after the disappearing act he'd pulled after the last performance. But somehow he managed.

Erika was equally busy, with tasks both mundane and devious. Carl was quite a bit wider than her new husband, a fact she relished in. But it also meant that, if Christophe was to look the part onstage, his costume had to fit perfectly. So Christophe described the clothing for her through the window and she made a replica of the costume that would fit much better than the one Carl would discard if her other preparations came to fruition.

Her plan was not particularly damaging to a person, but to a lead singer like Carl the effects would be devastating. Erika had watched him for a long time, just in case he was unwilling to abdicate the position of lead tenor for Christophe. During that time, she had noticed that, between scenes, Carl often drank a small mug of tea to keep his voice smooth, and the mugs had grown considerably larger as more was needed to iron out the tremors in his aging voice.

This was where Erika was preparing to strike. After much experimentation that left her own throat ragged, she had found a mixture that made the voice cease. She had recovered her own in about a day after trying the combination on herself, so she knew there was no lasting damage but the effect would keep Carl off the stage long enough for Christophe to steal it. That alone would send a powerful message to both the managers and that idiot tenor.

You will obey the instructions of the Phantomess whether you like it or not. Do it of your own volition or there will be consequences.

In this case, it would result in the embarrassment of their present lead tenor, the interruption of their opera, and most likely the dissatisfaction of their customers. Carl wouldn't be able to literally sing for a day, and would have to withdraw from the public eye for a great long while during which his reputation would hopefully recover. Or it would have, if Christophe wasn't waiting in the wings to steal his fans. Oh yes, they would learn not to trifle with her and Christophe after this.

Unbeknownst to the two newlyweds, someone else was also making preparations for that night. The Countess had by not stretch of the imagination forgotten the threatening letter. She was married, yes, but her husband was currently on a long-term business trip in England. She could do whatever she liked in his absence, and that including entertaining young opera stars, preferably young men and preferably in her bedchamber.

This little girl had the audacity to question this and threaten her away from one of the most promising bedmates of any opera cast this season. Then, to add insult to injury, she had requested that box five be left open. Box five was Rachel's box. The "phantomess", or whatever ridiculous name the girl had called herself, was basically saying that Rachel should be barred from any contact with that delicious Christophe Dae.

Well, she wasn't going to listen. Rachel was a noblewoman, and as such, had certain men at her disposal; men whose talents laid in tracking two-legged prey, catching family foes, and seeing that their bodies turned up in the river without a trace of evidence that pointed towards the Countess as the responsible party. These men would find their way into the opera house, in search of one defiant animal that dared to come between her and her cherished prey.

So laid the intentions and plans on the night the curtain lifted on _Muse Sierra._

**Primo Uomo is the male version of Prima Donna in opera language. ****_Muse Sierra, _****aside from partly being my first name, means mountain music or something close. Any suggestions for the actual opera?**

**There's a new poll open on my profile, if you want to check it out and perhaps give story suggestions.**

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	7. Battles

The curtain rose on the Opera _Muse Sierra _after a week of preparations. Rachel was sitting in box five in an act of defiance against the peasant girl who had the audacity to think herself above rank. Christophe was in waiting in the wings, decked out like a Major and waiting for Carl to find out about Erika's little trick. The Phantomess was hiding above the stage in the rigging, dressed as a male stage hand and waiting until it was time to spike Carl's tea. Two men, strong and heavily but discreetly armed, were hiding backstage, compliments of the Countess. More than one plot would unfurl in the theater.

Carl made it through the first number well enough. Erika had only put enough of the substance in to make his voice scratchy. If he felt himself giving out, he would drink the next mug with more urgency, and probably demand a bigger one. That second big mug would be the recipient of the main dose of the drug. It would take effect two measures into the first song and completely embarrass him in front of the whole audience, as well as send a powerful message to the managers who would have certainly arrived by that time. Erika smiled, She wished she could see their faces when they realized that She and Christophe had beaten them. But it was time.

Carl's personal attendant had just placed the mug on the waiting table and had left to get the sugar. Erika crept down the spiral staircase and quickly emptied the small vial into the cup. Then, she was safely concealed amidst the candles on the lighting platform and watching as Carl downed the drink. Oh, she was going to enjoy this.

She didn't have to wait long. The minute Carl opened his mouth to sing in the next scene, which Carl was also in, much to her delight, all that he exhaled was a raspy shout. "Mama!" Erika almost fell off the platform, she was laughing so hard. The arrogant tenor reduced to a mama's boy by one vial. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Christophe could barely contain his own laughter. Erika hadn't been kidding when she said it would be embarrassing. But this next part was crucial.

The young opera singer stepped up and finished the song, changing the lyrics ever so slightly to better fit his role.

"Sire, the enemy approaches!

Now you take your trusty shield.

Now you take your sword to wield.

Now hurry, we must go.

Our wrath, the French will know."

Compared to Carl's slightly rasping voice, his flew through the theater and enthralled the audience.

Rachel let herself drown in the sound. Oh, yes, she would have him. He would sing like that for her every night, and do other things besides. Erika leaned over the railing of the platform. He was resplendent, even in his more ordinary soldier's costume. Yes, this was what he was supposed to be doing. And it was beautiful.

They finished the scene like that, Christophe putting the more experienced tenor to shame, Rachel drowning in her own fantasies, and Erika glorying in what they had managed to do together.

After the scene was finished, the manager's apologized to the audience while Erika made her way down from the platform in time to replace Carl's cast off costume with the finer pieces she'd made for her love. The curtain had gone back up and Christophe was again holding his audience's attention when, on her way back up to the lighting platform, Erika saw them.

Two figures prowling the backstage area.

And they looked ready to kill.

Forget trying to be quiet. She raced up the shaking stairs three at a time, grateful that her disguise had pants instead of a cumbersome skirt. Also, the fact that it was black helped to conceal her. She stepped behind the backdrop for the chapel scene and got a good look at her opponents.

Two men, both burly and serious-looking, finished the climb into the upper levels of the stage. Their clothes were insignificant, except…what was that metallic flash? One of the men turned to examine a candle, lighting up the pocket of his coat. The seal of the Countess was embroidered on the man's breast pocket.

Erika growled. And then she smiled. So, she'd made enough of an impression on that woman that she actually felt threatened. Well, at least the vixen had the good sense to know a rival when she saw one, although, since Christophe was married to Erika, the Countess really didn't have any claim on her husband. But that could be easily remedied by a knife's blade. Erika had a feeling that was what the Countess was after.

Below on the stage, the battle scene had begun. Christophe rode a mock horse onto the stage and sang his war cry, not knowing that a real struggle was going on right above him as the two men attempted to catch his beloved were led around in circles by the clever girl. Candles were almost knocked over, set pieces jostled, and ropes tangled as the two men tried to keep up with the ghost of a woman. But she knew the territory and they did not. She led them around like that for all of Act I and most of Act II.

But it was the night scene that led to what happened next. Because it was night, the whole stage was darkened and left bare. So every backdrop and set piece that was lowered from the upper lofts was now clogging the space. The whole area was also dark, which was both an advantage and a liability. Erika knew this was a dangerous time for her, trapped in the upper levels with two men on her tail, who had slowly been learning the layout of the area.

She curled up behind the clouds for the triumph scene that had taken place after the earlier battle and listened to the sounds of the men getting closer. She dared not move for fear of jostling the delicate fabric veil in front of her, which would immediately give away her position, even in this darkness. As skilled as she was, Erika didn't think she could take both of them on, especially since she'd seen the flash of a blade. She waited there, begging for the lights to come back on and for the men not to find her.

The men stalked around the upper levels. By now, both were wary and irritated. No quarry had eluded them for so long. They crept around mock horses and cameos of battle lines before one of them spotted a hunched silhouette. He pointed it out to his companion. Yes, that looked like a woman alright. One of the men leaned out over the railing, reaching for it.

But the railing that had successfully held up underneath the slim figure of Erika broke when the heavier weight of the man leaned on it. He toppled over the edge and fell only a few feet behind Christophe as he stood on the darkened stage. They heard the thump, but thankfully the audience didn't see what had caused it. Christophe finished the scene and waited until the curtain closed to investigate.

They found the corpse of a man with his head smashed on one side and a stage covered in blood. And Christophe knew fear.

**Please Review! I haven't heard from you guys in ages, it feels like. What do you think of my revised storyline?**


	8. Fear

The stagehands quickly cleared the body and did their best to mop up the blood. They could panic later, but right now, they had an audience and a show to finish. The audience members just assumed a set piece or something had fallen by accident.

Except one.

Countess Rachel knew exactly what had happened. Her secret service had completed their mission. But she did wish they'd just taken to body with them instead of throwing it onto the stage. Really, she thought they had more decency.

After the third act, she sent another of the boys who had been guarding her to fetch the body and bring it back to the mansion, discreetly of course. She wanted to see the vixen's face, and perhaps… adjust it a bit before returning it to her assassins to dispose of. So the Countess sat back proudly in box number five and finished watching that god of a tenor.

There was a short intermission between acts three and four, during which the actors were given a chance to rest their voices in their dressing rooms or, if they had a smaller part, backstage. Christophe, of course, had Carl's dressing room at his disposal. That was an important detail, because it was the one with the mirror door. He removed the stifling helmet and unsheathed the acting sword at his side. It was mostly for show, but that thing was heavy! He closed and locked the proper door behind him just seconds before Erika burst out of the concealed one behind the mirror and ran into his arms.

She stuttered out "I was so s-scared. I…I thought they were…were gonna…gonna find me."

He gently ran a hand over his wife's back, trying to comfort her. "Forget your wide-eyed fears. I'm here. Now who were they?"

"I think the Countess sent them."

"How?"

"Well they're probably a part of her family's guard or something. They were wearing the crest." She looked into his face. "What are we going to do? If she sends assassins after me, what do you think she'll do to you?"

He brushed a hand over her cheek, wiping away the fearful tears spilling over it. "Don't worry about me. She's sent those men to try to get rid of you, her rival. She likes me too much to do anything to me except try to get me to like her. Hurting me wouldn't serve that purpose, now would it?"

She shook her head. "You're right Christophe. I'm just…just so scared. I don't want to lose you."

"And you won't." He sat her down on one of the desk chairs and took her hands in his. "I'm going to become famous, just like we've planned. The Countess can't stop that from happening. And I am legally married to you. If it comes down to it, the law will be on our side. I just have to play the part until I'm famous enough that I can announce my marriage to you and no one will dare touch us."

She was nodding, sufficiently calmed down. "You're right. But to do that," she stood and walked toward him, "you need to do your best tonight." She kissed him gently on the lips. "Your angel watches you." She slipped through the mirror right as the knocking began, insisting that he come out and become the knight again.

"I'll be right out," he shouted to the still pounding stage hand. He put the massive helmet back on and sheathed the sword before swirling back out onto the staged battlefield. Although, for him and his love, the war was now more real than ever.

**I know it's short. Sorry. If you want longer ones...**

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	9. Betrayal

The cobblestoned street was covered in three inches of solid white when Rachel stepped out of her highly sophisticated and expensive carriage after her escort for the evening, the delectable Christophe Daee. She twined her satin-covered arm around his elegantly suited upper arm and steered him towards the warm lights emanating from the opera house. He allowed himself to be steered by his patron of almost three months and walked through the gilded entryway and into the most lavish party of the social season. The Opera Popular's private New Year's Ball was an invitation no one who understood high society would dream of declining.

The high collar of his knight's costume chafed at Christophe's neck, a gift from his patroness. Funny. Hers was also the leash which he had chafed at ever since he had accepted her patronage. He hated her more by the day, and would tell her as soon as the next opera was over. This was the piece that would make him famous and free him from all such constraints once and for all. He just had to plaster on a smile this one last night and he could return to his life with Erika. But he had to get through it first.

Erika. He hadn't seen her since the night of the death in the opera house. He suspected Rachel had more to do with his loss of disposable time than rehearsals did. At least he'd managed to keep his nights to himself. But how was his wife coping? Did she understand? Did she miss him?

And then the music was starting and Rachel was yanking him onto the dance floor. They danced past Carl, now a slightly less popular star often cast in supporting roles as he whisked the leading second soprano of the company across the dance floor. The managers were parading their own town tarts around the ballroom like trophies. How disgusting. Christophe promised himself right there that he would never do anything like that to his beloved angel.

Halfway through the party, Rachel pulled him much closer than necessary for the dance and whispered in his ear, "This is such a boring party. Perhaps we should return home for a different kind of fun."

If he hadn't been used to such risqué comments by now, the tenor would have blushed to the ears. Instead, he firmly replied, "Wouldn't it be rude to leave so soon? We've barely been here three hours." It wasn't true, they'd danced for nearly five, but anything to keep him faithful in at least that respect to his beloved.

The Countess pouted for a moment and was about to complain when the cheerful music suddenly took a darker turn and heads snapped towards the staircase where a menacing figure glared at all of them. Dressed in skintight black that glittered with polished obsidian and trailing long black feathers that appeared also at the collar in the form of a massive fan, Erika looked nothing like the sweet girl he'd married and every inch the malevolent Phantomess. It was featureless, save for the black satin belt sporting a sheathed sword, with a mask of the same fabric covering her face all the way from her hairline to the bottom of her cheeks. The entirety of the party guests quaked under the cruelty of her gaze and the steel of her as yet hidden blade..

She began to slowly, menacingly, walk down the stairs. "Why so silent, good monsieurs? Did you think that I had left you for good?"

There was ice in her voice, but not the kind you carved into beautiful sculptures. This ice blinded and blizzarded and froze. "Have you missed me, good Monsieurs? I have written you an opera." She pulled from somewhere a portfolio encased in black satin, bedecked with mirror shards. "Here I bring the finished score, Erika Triumphant."

At those words she drew the slip rapier and began to brandish it with the same grace a duchess might use to handle a fan. Most thought it was just a gesture, but Christophe saw the target of that point. It still had its arms around his waist.

She whipped the blade back and caressed the blade with her other gloved hand. "Fondest greetings to you all. A few instructions just before rehearsals start." She continued walking down the staircase until she was right in front of the older tenor. "Carl must be taught to act, not his normal trick of strutting around the stage." With the last comment, she whipped the blade up until it was less than an inch from the man's prodigious nose. She turned her wrist and poked the tip gently into the highly ornamented bosom of the man's chosen partner. "Our current lead must lose some weight. It's not comely in a woman of the stage."

She whipped around, making the feathers dance like black fire around her now even fiercer visage. The hand encasing the sword's hilt relaxed for a moment, only to tense again when she brandished it so the managers went cross-eyed trying to keep the tip in view. "And my managers must learn that their place is in an office, not the arts." She turned from them and slowly sheathed the blade again. "As for our star, Mr. Christophe Dae…"

She turned expecting to see him smiling at her, which he was, but at that moment, all she saw was the arm twined around him. An arm that wasn't hers.

Shock registered on her face. She walked slowly towards him, much of the menance gone from her now. Erika could not believe what she was seeing. She'd spent months preparing the perfect opera for Christophe, the cornerstone of his career. Now, on the fateful evening when she would deliver her work and pull off the performance of a lifetime to him and everyone else in the room, she found him in the arms of another woman. And not just any woman.

The woman who had tried to kill her.

Erika removed her ring and threw it to the floor.

Then she triggered the floor panel and dropped down into one of the tunnels.

**This story will face death by hiastus very soon. To keep it from the chopping block...**

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